The Walking Hetalia Dead
by SomethingSimsy
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a young American gamer who has just completed season 1 of The Walking Dead by Telltale Games, a zombie survival drama. But after a shocking news report, he learns that zombies are more than fiction. He is forced to make heart-wrenching decisions between who lives, who dies, and just how far he will survive with his group in the zombie apocalypse. Inside4details
1. Chapter 1: Video Games

_**More details-**_

Woah, I apologise for that horrible use of leetspeek, but I had no choice due to the character count. Either way, here is what I left out in the description:

* This is multi-character.

* This will have _inspiration _from TWD by Telltale, but other than that, it will not copy the plot as I'm trying to be original here, but you may recognise a few scenes from that and other fiction like it (such as The Last of Us).

* This is multi ship (mainly US/UK, or Alfred/Arthur, but I will most probably include GerIta moments, along with Spamano, hints of the Frying Pangle and perhaps some flirting and others - no ship will be overbearing except maybe the main USUK if you don't like it so that could be a problem, but there won't be anything particularly 'juicy' (bad word to use, I know), plus, there will be no 'inappropriate' relationships as to say, basically meaning _all characters are of consenting age and I do not and will not write anything that goes against that code_) *sweat drops* thanks.

* This is survival genre, meaning you can expect some gore and violence, but not to the excessive (our heroes won't purposely throw themselves in danger's way, but, come on, it's inspired by TWD).

* If there is anything I could consider triggering (most likely excessive violence, gore, abuse or the like) I will leave a clear warning at the top. It is doubtful it will often need to be issued so I'm sorry if you have a love of murder and zombie crunching, but unfortunately, I will try to not be _that _morbid. Expect some violence and such, though.

* I don't need to offer a warning this chapter so please, read on. =)

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the characters presented in this fanfiction or Hetalia**

* * *

**The Walking Hetalia Dead**

_**Chapter 1: Video Games**_

* * *

Alfred F. Jones put down the controller of his _XBOX _and sat back in his creaky chair, his eyes almost vacant as they swam, a vein red, as he puffed out his cheeks in his sudden brought on sadness and frustration.

"Oh my God, _Lee_," Alfred whispered quietly to himself, lifting his glasses and rubbing his palm across his tired eyes, "and Clem... I can't believe he _died_... Oh my God..."

Alfred was attached, that much was clear. This was always a problem for him when he played video games, something not real that he could control, yet still, he couldn't; it was all played out for him. He couldn't believe that Lee had just died – just like _that! _He hadn't realised how horrific it was for someone you love to get bitten by a zombie, such a horrible, disgusting, pseudo-human creature. Good thing they weren't real.

Alfred didn't know what he would do if he was turned into a zombie. Would he tell anyone? Would he even be able to utter the horrible, sickening words that made his throat tighten at the mere thought? – "_I... I think I've been bitten..._"

Alfred violently shook his head. No. _No. _It wouldn't come to that. It was impossible, anyway; it was mere fiction that lonely people made up because they had nothing better to do in their free time...

_...Right?_

Alfred suddenly heard a brief series of knocks at the door. He stood up in an instant, knocking his controller with a muffled _thud _to the carpeted floor without a care for it. He crossed his small apartment to the front door where he stood, a strange churning in his stomach as he leaned into the peep-hole eye-level to him. There was a tight knot in his stomach, one that constricted like a snake as he closed one eye, blinking a few times to adjust himself to the contrast in lighting that covered the outside hallway in a pitch-black darkness.

He blinked.

He watched.

He sighed. _Empty. _

There stood no one outside, no one visible to Alfred who, with a strangely relieved huff, walked away from his front door over to his plump sofa where he collapsed in a heap, spreading himself over the furniture as he closed his weary blue eyes, rubbing them as he blinked himself back into reality.

He didn't know what he was so worked up over. He told himself to stop it, and he did.

He switched off his _XBOX _with little effort and instead switched the input on his TV, changing to his satellite reception. He sat back again, snuggling himself against the fabric of his stuffed leather sofa, as he started flipping channels every few seconds. Although his eyes were only fixated on the rapidly changing TV screen, they were wide with absence, a sense of strange detachment as he kept snapping his head back to the front door. The empty front door. There was no one behind the front door.

_There is _no one _behind the front door. Right. Okay. _"Time to watch some TV!" he announced to himself.

He finally stopped switching the channel once he found the news. He considered himself a prideful man of his country, patriotic, even, and what better way to stay loyal to the great nation of the United States of America without catching up on the latest gossip?

He sat back again, lightly throwing the TV remote aside as he pulled a soft knitted blanket he had tossed over the back of the sofa over his body. He snuggled and breathed into it, detecting that comforting strong smell of coffee and – how could he describe it? – _home. _

He relaxed, just as the face of the reporter came rapidly into the camera's view on screen. Alfred sat forwards slightly, his eyes widening as he felt that awful twinge in his gut again. _Goddamn it... I thought I was done with this!_

"Are we live?" the reporter frantically asked as they nodded suddenly, apparently getting the go ahead from the outset. "Okay, o-okay, w-welcome to our studio tonight at the six– _seven _o'clock local news. Thank you for j-joining us today."

Alfred swallowed, as did the reporter. Something was happening; something _bad _was happening and the reporter just kept stumbling over their words. _Oh God..._

"There's breaking news just in, tonight," the reporter commented as they looked down at their desk, their eyes suddenly widening as they studied the papers there, gripping them tightly in their hands then as they rushed them up to their face, close to ripping them into tiny pieces. They dropped the lifeless, crumpled stack to the desk again, their hands stumbling and shaking as they wiped them on their jacket front. They looked up to the camera, their eyes travelling around the set as they seeked some kind of last minute approval for whatever they were about to report, whatever breaking news they were about to report to the entire multi-million nation. They got nothing. They shook their head in disbelief and turned back to the camera, their eyes piercing the screen like needles. "Y-yes, breaking news tonight..."

Alfred blinked. He didn't know what to say, what to do. After some fumbling, he loosened the collar of his sweatshirt.

The reporter cleared their throat. "A killer... a killer outbreak," they finally choked out as their lips pulled back into a grimace. Their eyes met the camera. "A killer outbreak has spread around America and... and, _oh my God_, the whole... the whole of the continent."

_...What? _Alfred leant forward, his eyes just a mere metre from the intense, flashing TV screen as the reporter sweated a gallon and continued to stumble over their words, unsure if what they were saying, what they were doing, was right, or that it made any logical sense. They continued.

"Yes, this is what I am just hearing..." the reporter finalised. "Yes. I am just now hearing in the last few minutes that this... this _disease _it appears has spread to the local area of–"

Alfred didn't hear anymore. The sudden spout of ringing in his ears was piercing him, stabbing him and sending him into a fit of spiralling headaches. His vision just that second began to blur, the only thing he could see were morphed shapes and the bright, blinding flashing of the blurring TV screen.

This _disease_, _killer disease_, was in his _local area. His _local area.

Alfred didn't know what made him do it, but he threw himself to his feet and ran to the wall of windows to the side of his small apartment room, the dim reddish lighting from the living room barely falling over Alfred's shaking shoulders as he looked out into the pitch black, pure jet night.

Down there, on the pathway, a flickering streetlight cast deep shadows on a figure that slumped and staggered all over, eventually leaning on the illuminated pole for support. Alfred pushed himself closer to the glass, shakily exhaling and making the glass go a frosty white.

The figure continued struggling as they fell to the cold hard ground, barely able to get up as they coughed blood. Alfred jolted, about to turn away to help when he paused, breathing in heavily.

Alfred shot a second glance back at the man or woman who had, miraculously, managed to get to their knees. Another figure entered the path of the streetlight as their shadow emerged, much less drunk and much more stable.

The new comer had visibly short blonde hair and pale skin, especially since it was only being illuminated by the yellowish streetlight and the equally pale moonlight. From a flash Alfred saw, this was a man, a man with mid-green eyes, quite young – perhaps early twenties – who was Caucasian. Alfred paled, though he couldn't place exactly why – this man couldn't have been much older than him, a nineteen year old kid living in some high-rise tiny apartment shack in the suburbs. He... he didn't want anything to happen to the man on the street, and whilst he knew drunks _could _be violent and a danger, he didn't think that was the problem. No, his gut twisted to another uncomfortable thought that was drowning in his brain.

"_A killer outbreak_,_" _the voice of the news reporter echoed in Alfred's mind. He whined in discomfort; a quiet noise, yet it was enough for him to hear over the TV rolling in the background.

The new arrival on the street leant forward, seemingly offering a hand to the man or woman stumbling about on the floor. And the drunkard looked up.

Alfred jolted back in horror, as did the new arrival who quickly withdrew their offered hand. The man or woman... or whatever was left of _it_, had empty eyes, literally – there was nothing there, just bare and grotesque sockets, as if the eyes had melted away or simple shrivelled up and fallen out with nothing for cover. Their face appeared eaten away, their skin burnt or literally _eaten _by acid or something as equally destructive.

There was something very deathly about their image, as if they... Alfred gulped at what he was about to think. It was as if the... the _monster _was in the stages of decay, like patchy rough mould, nothing as human as pure burnt tissue from fire, acid, _whatever. _This... this was so much worse. So much _worse. _

Alfred let his shaking, blue eyes wander to the two people – rather, one man and one _corpse _on the street again, unblinking, unmoving. He was frozen in fear, a deer in the headlights, yet he stood so safely far away. The man on the street had no such comfort. He was probably shaking from fear, breathing heavily and quickly in short, startled pants if the frosty white puffs of breath coming out of his mouth was anything to judge by.

The man on the street nodded quickly at the figure, digging in his pocket for some money. Alfred found himself about to snort at what he was doing, but he was too scared to – either way, he was humourless. Nothing could ever be funny about this.

Once the man had apparently found an offering for whatever now rose to its feet on the street, he politely thrust it forward, his face holding a light frown, his eyes darting across the other's features, who stood at least a few inches higher, leering over the blond. He looked away, in what: shame, disgust, _fear?_

It didn't matter for long. The thing on the street with the sunken face stared at the newly outstretched hand, but not at the paper and coin contents – at the pale, slightly pink flesh, every digit, the burning palm, the shaking that was starting to occur from the intense examination it was under. The thing on the street looked up. It stared into green eyes, green eyes staring back almost inhumanly wide, impossibly shaking, terrified. Thick eyebrows pulled back as the man's mouth parted slightly, as if to choke, as if to scream, as if to do _something._

But it didn't matter for long.

There was a blood curdling scream as the man ran away, dodging an attack as the _thing _tried to take a huge, bloody bite out of his pink flesh. The thing staggered, confused as it apparently hadn't taken a bite out of its meal. Its eyes looked around and up as its gaze locked with startled, wide and frozen green in the dim light.

The man was clearly shaking now. He looked around desperately, bolting as he turned in the nearest direction away from the beast that had began to _limp after him_, swinging at him and securing a hit as it gripped onto the man's struggling leg and yanked. He fell down.

The mouldy beast slowly and disorderly inched over the man's body which lay pressed to the frozen ground, shuddering with a string of hot tears bubbling in his tightly closed forest eyes. The beast leaned in, sniffing him, examining him like a cow corpse for sale at the market. It wrapped its decaying fingers around the struggling man's shoulders, leaving a trail of powdery greenish mould behind as it leaned in for the final bite.

Alfred stood frozen one last time before he cursed and screamed in frustration, running out of his apartment's front door after grabbing a jacket off of the rack, in the process knocking the whole thing down. The door slammed shut. He _had _to save that man, before it was too–

Somewhere in the dark, down on the street, a monster took a bite.

* * *

**This is the beginning, and I have plans for the next chapter and onward. If anyone's interested please leave some feedback and I'll get to it whenever. **

**Also, as you may have guessed, the man on the street is also British if that is of any help. Hopefully, you now know their identity now if not before. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2: Dawn of the Dead

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the characters presented in this fanfiction or Hetalia**

* * *

**The Walking Hetalia Dead**

_**Chapter 2: Dawn of the Dead**_

* * *

Alfred burst out of the door in a flash, sprinting down the hallway of his apartment building. It was pitch black but the American had been living there long enough to know his way around, and with a sudden skid and a sharp intake of breath, he started racing down the first flight of stairs, then the second, then the third, until he reached the bottom floor as he launched himself out of the apartment complex.

He stumbled onto his feet. There. Just there, down the street, on the sidewalk, was the scene Alfred left behind, behind the clear safety of the glass in his apartment. But now he just felt plain exposed.

Struggling underneath the rotting body was the same man from before, tossing and turning with this _beast _as yet another bite landed just a centimetre from where his neck was last. He was huffing as fear bubbled in his eyes, and for a split second, a frantic second, his eyes locked onto Alfred's as they widened a fraction.

A fraction enough for the zombie to launch into a lethal bite all too late.

"Shit, _shit!_" Alfred swore under his breath. He shoved his hand in his pocket. He ran forward.

The man wrestling on the pavement gasped as the zombie's blackened teeth went straight for his shoulder and he shifted with a grunt to the right, just enough for the rotting canines to only scrape his jacket within a mere inch.

The monster reared its ugly head again just as a _click_ came from behind its back, enough to make it find enough sense to twist its wobbling head around. It came face to face with the barrel of a gun.

_Bang!_

A bullet casing fell with a high-pitch twinkle to the floor as it rolled into the road somewhere, and the gormless creature rolled its head backwards as black, gloopy blood began to pour out of the hole in its head. Its nearly disintegrated eyes didn't even change expression. It fell, lifeless again, with an ungraceful _slam _against the cold hard sidewalk, face-up, mouth quivering and gurgling all sorts of horrific sounds. Yet it still was as dead and unseeing as it had ever been before. It was truly the definition of sickening.

All that filled the air was the heaving of two heavy chests, the rushing of hot blood and the groans and moans of whatever vile _thing _was still writhing on the blood-splattered pavement like a diseased mongrel with rabies. Without much of a second thought, Alfred withdrew his gun again and sent another set of bullets right into the monster's head with a shaking hand and a few piercing _bangs _in the empty and bitter night.

Soon enough two pairs of different eyes were on it again, one from above, one from below. The creature cried out one last time before its broken and clicking groans died in the freezing air. And they both, a witness and a victim, gulped back their bile when the creature made the last of its dying breath by heaving out one last clicking shriek and keeling over right there, blood continuing to pool around it and leak out of its mouth and its withered eye sockets.

Alfred let his shaky hand hang the gun from his last few fingers that weren't numb enough to let go, and his head slowly edged away from the dead and deformed beast. Instead, he painstakingly looked to the man still lying on the hardened pavement, the stranger's eyes shaking at the sight of what could have ended his life. His horrified stare quickly shot up.

Startled blues stared into frozen greens that were absolutely pierced with a shield that was quickly breaking down like ripped, fragile paper being pelted over and over with razor-sharp knives. The man suddenly heaved back a sob and the first batch of a river of unshed tears bubbled down his dirty cheeks. His face scrunched up and contorted in a horrible mix of anguish, fear and agony.

Alfred gulped back whatever he was going to do or say because before long he knew none of it would be useful anymore, not now, not that he saw the kind man from afar in such a fragile, fragile state up close.

All he had to do now was help this man, as if he wasn't going to do that before. And then perhaps explain the reason he still had a gun in his strained hand.

But Alfred was cut short in doing either, or doing anything, since the man wiped his face on the heel of his hand and steadily pushed himself to his feet with no help or recognition at all. He looked a wreck, but manageable, and he made that much clear from the look he gave Alfred after breathing a light sigh of something Alfred didn't manage to distinguish.

It was a hard thing to describe; a look of weariness in his eyes as his gaze fell to the cold hard ground again, breathing out a puff of white as the cold, dirty air caught in his mouth, in his throat, on his tongue. It was as if he had just only experienced a long day at work, nothing more, nothing less, and in seconds Alfred knew that the shield that had so easily broken down was back up, but built with more bricks than Alfred could bring himself to count.

Something inside of Alfred made him want to break it. Something inside of Alfred made him want to reach out to it, push it aside, watch it crumble and reveal...

Something inside of Alfred made him stop dead in his tracks.

The darkened emerald eyes of the weary man shifted from his feet to the gun still dangling from Alfred's curled hand, the trigger catching perfectly in the light like the lens of the holder's glasses to create a blinding glare, one that made the man wince and look away to the roadside somewhere, where he continued to look with drawn back eyebrows and beaten eyes.

Alfred caught the look and blinked back his surprise. On cue he looked down and tucked the weapon away in his jacket pocket again as if it had never left its cosy spot there. _Is that what he wants to believe? _he quickly felt himself wonder and, with a cautious look to the man who continued to look away into the ominous distance, he considered it best not to ask.

Soon enough, however, Alfred found another equally important question on his mind: "Hey," he cut the silence, and the man instantly shot his acid green eyes over to Alfred. He gulped, and his lips drew downwards. "Aren't you going to thank me for saving your life...?"

The man didn't quite know how to react, and instead hung his head low, letting the thick locks of his blonde fringe cover his expression instead. "I'm Arthur, and yes... I... I apologise, I just do not... I don't quite..." he grunted in annoyance. "I just don't quite know how to go about–"

"Spare it," Alfred announced as he spared the man the trouble with a quick wave of his hand. The man quickly silenced himself with a brief nod of his head. "Nice to meet you, Arthur, I'm Alfred. I guess there's only one thing I really need to ask you..." he swallowed, and suddenly he realised his throat felt very parched. "Do you know what–?"

"Again, spare it," Arthur said with discomfort, and a chill ran through his entire being as he looked over the coat still firmly attached to his body, eyeing the patches of moulded powder and black blood stains that had begun to weave themselves into its fibres. He sighed, "I don't know whether you caught the news or not, Alfred, but by now it is too late to do much about it." With a quick shake of his head he undid the buttons of his fine coat and took the garment by its inside lining. He eyed the toxic markings now staining his coat. _Were_ they toxic? "There is a disease in this country, Alfred, in this entire continent. I don't have all the details myself, but as a cameraman for the Seven O'Clock News I can tell you that I've heard quite a lot, and none of it is, as you might say, _pretty._"

Alfred gulped, and with a shaking voice, he boldly asked, "And why's that?"

As if he didn't even know the answer.

Arthur looked away, not quite able to be the bearer of bad news for the mere stranger in front of him. He only had a name, and yet it felt like he had known him a whole lifetime. With a bowed head and eyes squeezed shut, Arthur threw his open jacket over the rotting body on the roadside that was now drowning in a lake of its own pulpy bad, black blood. He slowly opened his darkened eyes. "There's apparently been some kind of... _outbreak_, Alfred," Arthur said finally as he eyed the now blanketed, blood-stained body on the filthy roadside. Even if it _was _a moulded monster, one that tried to eat him alive, it was still a corpse... and it was probably still, once, a fellow human. A neighbour, a colleague, a teacher, a _friend..._ The very thought made him feel sick to his stomach. He quickly wiped his mind clean of it as he turned his whole being away.

"So, what I heard _is _true, then..." Alfred murmured to himself, and slowly he started to frown. "But, if you're a cameraman for the Seven O'Clock News, how are you _here?_"

Arthur shook his head. "I took the day off today, but I've overheard enough in the last few days... the last few _weeks_. This outbreak has been spreading for days, Alfred, the government tried its best to contain it but it just didn't work... and now the whole country is, dare I say it, totally _fucked._" Arthur met eyes with Alfred. "They didn't want to start a panic... and now there is no time to evacuate. I just hope you can spread the news to the people you love most, Alfred. Depending on where they are, they still may have–"

"_Mom!_" Alfred shouted into the speaker on his phone, and Arthur blinked in surprise, stepping back a bit, but he could only heave a sigh from the deepest pit of his lungs. How could he blame the poor boy? Arthur was just lucky that in a rare twist of fate, his family was back in their home countries in the British Isles. "Mom, M-mom, I-I need to– _No! _No, n-no, didn't you see the news...? Y-yeah, well, go look at it, y'know what, it doesn't matter, just evacuate, okay? Get on the nearest aeroplane o-o-or I'll come get you and we can all go together, okay?"

Arthur looked away, resting his weight against the nearby lamppost that was drowning him in a sickly yellow light as he let Alfred continue his conversation in relative privacy, whatever he wanted. Meanwhile, he couldn't help himself from hanging on every word out of that boy's running mouth.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur just hoped to god that Alfred would be his ticket out of the country, because he sure as hell didn't have any other way out.

Not that Alfred had to know any of that yet.

Arthur's musings were very quickly cut short when he heard Alfred shout out, "Mom? _Mom? Mom! _Mom, I'm coming to come get you, don't be stupid, okay? Just stay put a-and lock all the windows and doors, and get a weapon and, a-and, read up on the news... I-I, I love you... Bye."

Alfred ended the call with a small _beep _tone and slipped the mobile phone back into his jean pocket. He quickly looked up to Arthur with desperate ocean eyes, and Arthur's could only widen as he expected and awaited some kind of response, anything, heart pounding painfully in his chest.

"I've gotta go, Arthur. I... Bye." In a second Alfred was gone, but it seemed to go by in minutes, leaving Arthur to feel his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach, alone, cold, and as good as dead. His mouth was quivering, opening and closing as he tried to formulate the words of thanks he had prepared to say all so quickly with so little time to say them.

His heart sank, and his hopes scattered with the bitter breeze that whipped his hair and his thin shirt. He cuddled up on himself, rubbing the goose bumps on his arms as his teeth chattered that bitter, bitter night.

Alfred was leaving without him, A-Alfred, he–

_I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to–_

"_Arthur!_"

Arthur's head snapped up. "W-what?" he barely made out.

Apparently, despite everything, Alfred had heard him. He was just a metre away from the grand doors to his apartment complex, quite a few more metres away from Arthur, waiting for someone like a good friend. "Aren't you going to help me pack?"

Arthur gaped. "I-I-I, I... don't be so selfish, y-you brat!" he exclaimed, but in no time at all, he was already at Alfred's side, and the two were racing up the pitch-black complex to Alfred's front door which they would bash in and raid for supplies in a matter of minutes before they'd be running again, backpack fastened tight and heart pumping hard.

And just in time, too.

Outside the complex, just a few hundred metres away, in the black of night, was a resonating growl, a howl, a _snap _and a _tear _as bones began to break and skin began to rip and flesh began to flee. The mind craved something, something its body was beginning to misplace so carelessly.

The mind began to crave curved human voices, the mind began to crave marrow-rich bones, the mind began to crave the juiciest of fleshes and the softest of skins.

The mind craved the living, whilst the body walked the dead; and in a few more minutes, it would get its meal in the form of two young, fresh blondes screaming in terror as they tried to escape their eventual fate.

And they came in the hundreds; the walking dead came in the hundreds, and as the night turned blacker, the beasts could only do one thing:

_Howl!_

* * *

**More updates to come! Geez, I'm bad at updating **_**and **_**I'm bad at ending chapters. But, that's okay, since next chapter two things will happen: **

**Alfred and Arthur will begin their real adventure **

**The duo picks up more members to form a proper gang, and guess who they'll be...**

**Tragedy, romance and drama awaits! Stay tuned!**


	3. Chapter 3: Car Lights

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the characters presented in this fanfiction or Hetalia**

* * *

**The Walking Hetalia Dead**

_**Chapter 3: Car Lights**_

* * *

Alfred and Arthur burst into the American's apartment, the door swinging open and smacking against the wall. Alfred switched on the light, the overworked bulb coming to the end of its life as it barely managed to light the room at all. They walked in, the only sound being the muffled thuds of their shoes on the carpeted floor, and the rolling of dramatic music. Arthur turned to Alfred. "What do you need to pack?"

Alfred breathed into his darkened apartment, the TV still running in the background like a noisy flashlight. "Everything. I'll go get my backpack." He went to move, but turned back to Arthur, asking, "Do _you _need a backpack?"

Arthur huffed, but quietly replied, "Yes..." Alfred smiled back, and went further into the apartment.

Arthur aimlessly wandered the floor whilst Alfred was gone, his eyes resting on the blinking TV. He went closer, brushing off his thin shirt as he went to politely sit down on Alfred's messy sofa. He scoffed, but turned his attention to the wide screen.

The news was still running. _I wonder who took over my job today... _Arthur thought as he watched the camera swing almost wildly around the news set. The reporter had taken off their suit jacket which was hanging over the back of the chair they restlessly perched on, their hands having long since crumpled the paper stacked in front of them on the desk. Their eyes were wild, and their mouth was quivering.

Arthur already knew what the reporter was about to say.

"Bre-breaking news, tonight," the reporter shakily said, "once again, th-this new epidemic is spreading a-around the country... and the continent... and... m-maybe the whole world..."

Arthur gulped despite the fact he knew what was coming, and what had already been said. He could hear Alfred moving around in the back of his apartment somewhere, but Arthur could only focus on the TV. He perked his ears, and rubbed his sweating palms on the front of his shirt.

"W-we're receiving news that..." the reporter frowned, their brow twitching, "that the US government has known about this for... for _weeks..._"

Arthur shakily exhaled. His eyes jittered around the apartment. How much longer would Alfred be...?

As if on cue, Alfred entered from the back of his apartment. Two bags were in his hands. "Good news: I found two bags and they're pretty strong. I hope it's not too big for your girly-ass shoulders."

Arthur huffed and shouted "Hey!" but he had to internally thank Alfred for easing his nerves even a little, but only for that moment. "Give me a bag, then – and I can hold a backpack perfectly well, thank you!"

Alfred laughed and threw Arthur a bag, which he leant forward an inch to catch. "Now, Arthur," Alfred began as he went to join Arthur by the sofa, "pack whatever you think's good. I suggest canned food, water, tools, weapons, clothes, and whatever else you can find, and since I'm the expert survivor hero here, you should listen to me. Plus, it's my bag."

Arthur growled softly in the back of his throat, but he got to his feet, slinging the empty rucksack over his shoulder as he moved into the kitchen to look for anything of use.

Alfred threw his own bag over his back and instead moved to his bathroom. He slung open a cabinet and pushed all of the medicine he could find into his backpack, and with a final survey of the room, he sighed to himself and moved to his bedroom.

A pang hit Alfred in the chest, and he suddenly realised he would really miss his young home. "Oh, well," he sighed into the quietness and he walked forward, slinging his backpack onto his bed as he walked over to his drawers and closet, taking out a pairs of boxers and a few spare bits of clothes.

Next, Alfred moved his hand about by his bed, locating his phone charger, his watch and a few batteries as he slipped them in his bag.

Finally, he moved to his bedside table and, with saddened eyes, he pulled a photo of him and his family off of the top. Behind the glass was him in high school, with his half-brother, Matthew, to his side and his mum behind him. The sun was shining, and they all wore beaming smiles. They all looked so happy... He held it to his heart, sighing as he realised he was alone, and without another heartfelt glance he carefully tucked it into his bag.

Alfred left the bedroom, not finding much else of interest, only to find Arthur appearing from the kitchen at the same time, firmly gripping onto the straps of his backpack. "Anything good?" Alfred asked, and Arthur sent a sideways glance to his full bag.

"Canned food, weapons, tools, everything you said," Arthur stated, and Alfred nodded, casting a look to his apartment he was about to leave. He sighed, and Arthur felt a small pang in his stomach at that. "What did you get?"

Alfred shrugged and said "Medicine, but that's about it." He failed to mention the photo. He figured it didn't really matter, not to Arthur, anyway. "I have a car in the parking lot out back. I can pick it up. Beats running, huh?"

Arthur nodded, not sure what to say, and Alfred nodded back, sending his apartment another look. He turned his soft blue eyes to Arthur, and with a gentle smile, he simply said, "Give me a minute, will ya? I just wanna see this place one more time..."

Arthur hesitated, but nodded, gently replying, "Okay, Alfred. I'll be waiting outside." And a few seconds later Arthur passed Alfred and went out of the front door, gently pulling it to with a muffled thud.

Alfred stood still for a second or two. He looked to his pocket and pulled out his phone.

With a gentle motion he took a photo of his apartment. It was probably the last time he'd see it. With a defeated sigh he pocketed his phone again and was about to walk out of his apartment when his eyes set sight on one of his favourite jackets he had left on the coat hanger, which had since fallen to the floor. He reached down, picking it up by the neck which was coated in a thick, dark fur. It was his grandpa's, an old time bomber jacket from the war which had a star engraved on the front breast, but was otherwise soft and leather. He smiled.

Alfred left through the front door, and shut himself out of the apartment he had called his first home. It was probably the only home he would have for awhile, and he hated that thought so he silenced it immediately.

Arthur jumped an inch and turned to Alfred as he gently closed his apartment door with a soft _thud_, and he turned to Arthur, backpack over his shoulder and a jacket in his hand. He presented it to Arthur, who blinked back at him in surprise. "What's that for?"

"It's for you," Alfred said softly, his eyes on the ground as a light blush tinted his cheeks. "I'm sorry about your coat outside... it's kinda shitted now, I guess..."

Arthur nodded reluctantly and was about to reach for Alfred's jacket when he met his eyes, saying hastily "This looks very expensive, Alfred, I don't know if I could..." but Alfred shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," Alfred smiled, "it's a hero's duty to serve the weak and innocent!"

Arthur huffed, his brows pulling together as he firmly snatched the jacket from Alfred's hands. "Who said anything about 'weak'? I can assure you I am quite the opposite, Alfred." He smirked. "I think I am a _lot _more experienced in any case, adventure boy."

Alfred gaped, "_Boy?_" He pouted and crossed his arms over his chest and adjusted the straps over his shoulders. He marched on, lightly brushing past Arthur who followed him with curious eyes. Alfred suddenly turned, spouting, "Aren't you gonna put on my jacket? It's pretty cold outside!"

Arthur turned a little pink as he reluctantly tugged off his bag and slipped the leather jacket over his shoulders. Damn, it _was _soft... "Thank you," he murmured quietly, and he threw the backpack over his shoulders again, completely covering the huge _50 _printed on the back. "Now, should we get going?"

Alfred nodded, realising somewhere in the back of his mind he was throwing precious time away, and the two marched on, down the flights of stairs that led to the ground floor once again. Although they were both too proud to admit it, their hearts were pounding like drums in their chests.

They finally reached the bottom and Alfred, the first to find his trainers padding on soft wood flooring, waited for Arthur to reach his side again. With careful nods to each other, which they could barely see through the darkness in the apartment lobby, they pushed forward.

Alfred carefully opened the squeaking entrance door with a wince and, with quick looks to either side of them, they realised cautiously enough they were alone in the bitter, cold night. Alfred turned to Arthur, easing his back as he pushed the door so it was wide and open. Inviting, even. "You ready to go, dude? I've got the keys here," he said as he rattled them around in his jacket pocket.

"Yes," Arthur nodded shortly, and before long, they were running into the night again.

"So, you know the plan?" Alfred shouted as he ran, speeding down a sidewalk as his trainers pounded on the pavement. "We get to my car and roll down to where my ma is, alright?"

Arthur looked uneasy, but he nodded after a few seconds nonetheless, straining to keep up. "S-sure…" he panted as Alfred's long strides were really starting to wear on him. But he knew he had to keep going, and the reason was something that kept making him swallow burning hot bile every few precious seconds. "Then we… go… where?"

"I… dunno," Alfred admitted with quite a lag himself as his breath was starting to get heavier and his stamina wear thin. But, finally, their burning legs began to slow down as they reached the awaited car park.

"Which one is yours?" Arthur asked curiously as his eyes scanned the car park – but one option was obvious. "Please don't tell me it's that hideously patriotic car over–"

"That's the one!" Alfred cheered sing-songily as he bounced over to his vehicle, whipping out the keys as he unlocked the beast. He looked over to Arthur, expectantly, but also with a tight brow and a little pout on his lips. "And, hey, if you don't like the idea of a big-ass American flag being painted on the side of my Jeep then you shouldn't be living here in America! It's all about _freedom_," Alfred chided, and Arthur didn't really know how to react, so he simply didn't.

"I… I see," Arthur settled on saying as he jogged over to the car's passenger side, the cold air starting to bite the back of his neck as worry really began to crease and sink into his face. He turned to Alfred, groaning slightly in the back of his throat as he shook his head and opened the door, seating himself quickly. He closed the door as quietly as he could, and with precision he grabbed onto the seatbelt and strapped it across his body, buckling himself in.

The car suddenly dipped and bounced back up as Alfred threw himself in the driver's side, throwing Arthur up in the air with a light "_Oi!_" as the last open door was banged close with a loud _slam_. "Do you mind?" Arthur snapped bitterly,but despite the deep frown on his face, it was evident his voice was strained with worry – for the both of them. "I know us – mostly _you _– shouting earlier probably drew some unwanted attention, but there is no need to go around slamming– _Oh _and for the love of _God_, put on your _seatbelt!_"

Alfred suddenly paused mid-action as he turned to Arthur, his face frozen in mild shock. "What? Do you want to get your face eaten?"

Arthur froze at the thought and felt a chill run down his back, and he self-consciously wrapped his arms around himself like he was giving a tender hug. The scent of blood and rotting flesh entered his nose again, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head. When he opened them, he saw Alfred had quickly strapped on his seatbelt and was looking away, his usually clear blue eyes clouded with something. "Sorry," he muttered, and, with a flash of confusion, Arthur sighed and looked out of the passenger window, only being met with rows of bushes and empty gravel.

There was a single streetlamp.

Then, there was a single figure.

Arthur leant forward, pressing his nose and palms flat against the window, numbing his warm flesh with the icy cold. Staggering in the shadows was a humanoid figure, like a drunkard, and all of a sudden the scene seemed very familiar. Arthur felt a stab to his gut. "A-Alfred, we need to move, _now…_"

Alfred turned to Arthur, his face unreadable as he quietly asked, "Why…?"

His eyes widened and he quickly shot his head back to the car, pulling the vehicle into ignition. He gripped the steering wheel like a vice and shouted to Arthur, "Get away from the window!"

_You don't need to tell me twice_, Arthur thought as he bit back his vomit, trying to look away from the figure stumbling ever closer but finding it impossible to, like he was hypnotised. But soon enough Alfred pulled the car up and sped off, the darkened figure disappearing into the distance like it was never there. Just another imaginary creature of the night.

If only.

"My Satnav still works," Alfred commented as he looked to it. The light from the electronic map illuminated the whole inside of the car, and sadly enough, it was one of the only sources of comfort, aside from the man sitting nearby. They looked to each other as they thought that simultaneously. They looked away.

"Keep your eyes on the road," Arthur bickered quietly, but there was no bite to it at all. Figures were passing the window in a blur all too quickly to make them out, and Arthur decided he would look away, anyway, so he chose to look at the young man across from him.

His honey blonde hair fell over his face on either side, the tips wet from what could only be sweat, and his eyes were narrowed into determined points. His hands were strained on the steering wheel, and his arms were tense, and he was crushing the backpack still strapped to both of his shoulders into the back of the car seat.

Suddenly there was a cracking noise, like a glass had fallen off of the table and shattered, and Arthur saw Alfred visibly flinch. He winced. Arthur groaned lightly in the back of his throat as he hesitantly – slowly yet surely – lifted his hand across the space between them, his trembling fingers outstretched as he reached to calm the shaking, sobbing boy and–

Alfred's watery eyes darted his way–

Arthur's greens widened in shock–

They both looked back to the road–

_Crash!_

* * *

**This was a bit of a fill-in chapter but it's kind of necessary. More characters to come next chapter. Hint: this scene is inspired from **_**The Last of Us**_**.****(Not necessarily with the same ending to it if you get the reference!)**


	4. Chapter 4: The New Crew

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the characters presented in this fanfiction or Hetalia**

* * *

**The Walking Hetalia Dead**

_**Chapter 4: The New Crew**_

* * *

"_Crap!_"

Alfred and Arthur were thrown back and forth in their seat like ragdolls as they groaned, the car coming to a screeching stop. They had just crashed into something with a huge _bump _and now they were really paying the price.

But the one truly paying the price was the one just hit the cold, hard, gore-splashed ground. "_Merde_, _vous connards…_"

Despite Alfred's loud groaning, Arthur was quick to pick up on the pitchy whine from outside. "…Francis?"

Francis Bonnefoy blinked, shook his head, then looked up with his whole upper body propped up on the patriotic car bonnet that had struck him like a bullet to the chest. But, like Arthur, his ears didn't deceive him. "Arthur! What in _enfer _are you doing?"

Arthur frowned, hugging himself with his arms tightly. "I didn't do _anything! _And this is hardly the time, Francis!" he shouted as, with a quick shake of his head, he swiftly unbuckled his seat belt and kicked the passenger door open; Francis was quick to greet him with a huff and angry eyes.

But there was something behind it apart from their long-time feelings of feud, and that something was– "Urgency, Arthur! You can bicker childishly later – we need to go!"

Arthur sent a troubled look back at Alfred who only shrugged, helplessly, saying, "Well, what hero would I be if I didn't let every stray cat into my rescue squad?"

Francis frowned with a pout, saying "_Enfant ingrat…_" as he threw open the back doors of the car and–

"_What do you think you're doing?_" Arthur almost shrieked as Francis picked him up under his knees and his back. The intrusive man threw Arthur on the leather back seat of the Jeep, slammed the door shut and sat himself in the front, much to Arthur's indignant groans. "What gives you the right–?"

"Can it, Arthur, we don't have time for this," Alfred grumbled as he shunted the gear stick forward, slamming his foot down on the pedals with a piercing blue gaze of concentration as the car revved madly in the background, belching out exhaust fumes like a Victorian factory. Francis didn't know what did it – heck, neither did Alfred – but for whatever reason this made Arthur's cries of protest come to an abrupt stop. "Now," Alfred suddenly pinned his hard gaze on Francis, "buckle up and let's get going. I'm gonna be going fast, alright?"

Francis frowned slightly, pulled the seat belt strap over his shirted front and, with a quick check behind him at Arthur's now seated and strapped in position, he said, "Okay…?"

And, with a sudden cry from Francis, the vehicle went ramming forwards through the street.

Sometime later, as crowds of screaming people passed for the most part ignored, Francis felt the need to speak up again – "So, Alfred, where are we going?"

Arthur sat up at this. "Wait, Alfred hasn't mentioned his name this whole time – how do _you _know him?"

Francis clicked his tongue and shook his head with a light, superior smile – Alfred offered no comment, nor a look, but he had guessed from the silence Arthur was probably mutely peeving, and Francis had that old condescending look he rarely seemed fond of. Huh. "Oh, Arthur," Francis said slyly, "I know your simple mind never accomplished much, but I became a teacher, do you not remember?"

Arthur said nothing, but narrowed his piercing lime eyes. "No, you didn't. You never studied for that. Last time I knew you went on to become a dramatic b–"

"No, no, Arthur," Francis said, but for some reason the smile upon his face seemed a little strained. As if he was holding something back. "I became–" – his eyes shot to Alfred, then rolled back to Arthur – "…I became a therapist, for all sorts of matters."

Arthur blinked, holding back his surprise, as he unconsciously wrapped his arms a little tighter around his suddenly frail body. His gaze shot to the back of Alfred's head and, from the light click his neck made as he moved it slightly, Arthur knew there was a bridge he truly hadn't crossed. "I… I never knew that," Arthur said, defeated, and he looked right into Francis' eyes. "I… never knew that."

"No," Francis said dully, that playful air suddenly gone. He sent Arthur a troubled look, one last time, his lip pulled back, before he twisted around and sunk back into his passenger seat, eyes facing forwards. He watched the rolling road with boredom, and stared into the hundreds of eyes of all those screaming for help, for end, for some _peace _– huh, that was one of his clients now. "Of course you didn't." Now they were gone.

Arthur stared at the passenger with wide eyes at that; after some minutes, however, he looked away, absently looking at the empty seat next to him.

After some minutes, Alfred felt the need to answer Francis' question. "We're heading out to my ma's. She's not too far away, a few miles, tops. We'll be there soon, I promise." Francis nodded at that, still rather silent, and an awful knot inside of Arthur grew.

What exactly had he _missed _all this time since he and Francis went separate ways, all those years ago?

He knew he couldn't ask, and he knew he shouldn't try. So, he didn't'.

And that's how the rest of the trip continued until Alfred rolled up outside of his mother's house, car still running as he jumped out with no time to waste.

"I'll be back in a minute!" he called back as he plunged into his house, throwing the front door open and not caring as it smacked the wall a few hollow times – his ma would have cared, and suddenly, he felt the need to close it. But there was no time. "Ma!" he called into the house, and walked forward, through the hallway, until something suddenly lurched in his chest. He gulped his bile back down. "_Ma! _It's me, Alfred, I'm here to pick you up! Ma…?"

Alfred climbed the stairs, his thoughts absorbing every warped creak of the case and every soft _thud _of his shoes on the carpet. He reached the top, hand sliding numbly off the cold, wooden banister as it fell to his side, with a pat, as everything seemed to travel in slow motion.

The door. The door to his mother's room was open, slowly creaking in fact, and the sound just seemed to blare like a waning siren in Alfred's thumping head. He edged forward, cautiously, his numb hand lifting from his side to slowly rest on the door panel. He pushed, and, with a cracked inhale of breath, he walked into the room, into that room with a stride that quickly broke from under him.

He landed in their arms.

There, by his dead mother's side, was his brother.

His brother was now holding him, weakly, the blood in his mouth wiping off onto Alfred's twisted face.

His brother was eating her stomach, his mother, her organs spilling all over the floor. In his mouth, across his front, his lap, his face–

His brother… was _dead. _He was the _walking dead. _

Alfred choked, and hot tears bubbled down from his perfect crystal eyes.

Sound. "Alfred…?"

* * *

**My updating schedule is awful… but here you go. That was a little… gory, towards the end, but I hope it was dramatic enough!**

**More to come next chapter. Hope you enjoyed even a little.**


End file.
